


X Double Prime Marks the Spot

by minoriaki



Category: THE iDOLM@STER
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:17:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minoriaki/pseuds/minoriaki
Summary: Michio feels insecure. Jiro knows. But Jiro has always known, and will always know.





	X Double Prime Marks the Spot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @merurumeow on twitter!! Happy birthday!

Michio was great at a lot of things. He was a whiz at mathematical proofs and was proficient at detail-oriented work. His research skills were unparalleled, and he could execute most statistical tests in his head with little trouble at all. He had his normal curve memorised, and he found ways to operationalise variables that were unprecedented and never failed. The number of digits of pi he had memorised was impressive, to say the least.

Of course, however, he had his failings. He considered his inspiration and support of today’s youth a work in progress, but there were other things—he wasn’t an excellent cook (everything ended up slightly bland). His attempts to do his sister’s hair when she was little were laughable, and his mother had always had to fix them before she left for school. But these things didn’t have a huge consequence.

Slowly observing the sleeping lump beside him, Michio sat stiff and straight in bed and thought.

Another thing he wasn’t great at was expressing himself, at least in a natural way.

As a child he was often teased for it, not that it phased him very much. He had been called cold, blunt… but when expressing logical information, that was necessary, he’d thought. And he still stood by that. But when it came to emotional information, he had his shortcomings.

And so the problem became, how would he make his feelings, as much as he understood them himself, understood by the one who mattered most to him? How would he make Jiro see how much he meant to him?

Of course, he’d done his own research, watching couples interact and watching romantic comedies. He’d studied the appropriate angle your elbow should be at during a hug. (Each arm should be roughly parallel to the shoulders, but one ten degrees offset, the other forearm ten degrees offset in the other direction.) The appropriate behaviour to exhibit before kissing someone. Different techniques of holding hands. (He’d observed four.) He’d even done some more R-rated research to figure out how to execute certain techniques that a relationship of their kind called for.

Normally this would be enough to comfort him, and he wouldn’t worry about it past that point: knowing what to do and how things are statistically handled in idea situations meant Michio had a game plan of sorts, optimised for success.

But that thought still lingered.

Here was the problem. Each of those exchanges had a mysterious variable in them he couldn’t quite puzzle out. This ability to wordlessly interpret and communicate with one’s partner. Knowing when someone wants to be kissed. Put simply, the ability to accurately interpret the kinds of cues unique to each partner to make them happiest. There were some statistical hints, but the variables multiplied in his head until he was six levels deep in the alphabet, still rolling them over in his head like a jawbreaker in a child’s mouth: the problem was dissolving slowly, but no level of forcing the issue would help. Each new iteration of _x_ only complicated things, and it seemed the more he thought about them the more of them he found. 

Jiro quietly stirred beside him and turned, wrapping his arms around Michio’s waist and burying his face, stubble and all, in his stomach. It was almost reminiscent of a cat, and Michio decided it would be prudent to display an analogous behaviour, hesitating before petting Jiro’s head lightly and running his fingers through his wavy, coarse hair.

Without even looking up, Jiro seemed to sense his hesitation. “You’ve been thinking about something.” The words tickled against his stomach, and Michio could almost feel the scruff of his chin through the fabric of his pajamas.

“Umu.” Michio wordlessly sounded his agreement.

“I have too.” Jiro rolled onto his back, sprawling out and looking at the ceiling with bags under his eyes. “I’m starting to go grey.” A deep sigh. “I even found a grey pube the other day. Was coarse as hell. Being an old man is wearing on me.”

Michio nodded, choosing not to point out that he in fact had grey hair and had always had grey hair.

“What else.” Jiro sat up, yawning slightly before glancing at the clock. “Shit, it’s only six thirty. How long have you been up?”

“Approximately 28 minutes.”

“Approximately, huh … Well alright.” Jiro’s eyes opened and closed slowly, betraying how tired he still was. “I’m surprised with that much time on your hands you didn’t go find a whiteboard if something’s bothering you.”

“There was an eighty-four percent chance that if I got up in a way that meant my knees would not crack loudly enough to wake you, the force on the bed of me leaving would have instead. I thought it best to stay.” A pause. “Though I did contemplate it.”

“I see…” Jiro wrapped him up in his arms. “Thanks for letting me sleep. I appreciate it.” A kiss on the forehead, he tended to be more affectionate in the morning, claiming it got him through the hardest part of the day. “You always are very careful not to wake me up.”

“Well, you reliably display an exponentially better mood when you are able to sleep more.” Michio felt himself smile softly.  

And with that, he felt his mind settle as it all clicked into place.

Jiro noticed the change in his face instantly and visibly relaxed a little bit more as he saw Michio unwind (relaxing further would have been difficult for most people, but Jiro was an expert), and that was exactly the thing: Jiro was observant. Jiro noticed most things. He saw and appreciated the subtle behaviour Michio displayed, and that was enough to settle Michio instantly. He almost felt disappointed in himself for having so little faith in his partner. But again, that was exactly the thing. Jiro had the ability to see through his haze of efficiency and statistics into the motivations behind them, more so than anyone else he’d ever known, except perhaps his sister or his parents.

Gently taking off his glasses and putting them on the side table, Jiro encouraged him to get a bit more sleep, sensing the ghost of stress had passed over. Michio made the mental calculation. Fourteen minutes to get to sleep. A morning off. Ninety minutes per sleep cycle. He set the alarm accordingly for an optimal second leg of rest.

Michio may have had a language all his own when it came to affection. It came across in straight edges and sharp angles, and people had always had difficulty translating it. Some people would never be able to. But it seemed that even if Jiro didn’t speak it himself, he knew enough to understand. And for the two of them, that would be enough. 


End file.
